


The Right Thing

by InnerSpectrum



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Johnlock - Freeform, Light Angst, Post-Season/Series 02 Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 08:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: Doing the right thing was going to hurt her.Doing the right thing was going to hurt her, a lot.But she knew, not doing the right thing was going to hurt more.She was going to do the right thing.
Relationships: Mary Morstan & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 97





	1. Doing The Right Thing

She has watched the two of them dance around each other for what has only been a few months but seems like forever now.

It took a tragedy for the truth to come out to each of them. That same tragedy is why they now lie not just to each other, but also to their own selves. The lie to their own selves being the bigger lie.

The biggest lie.

Especially for Sherlock. In his mind the important parts of London stayed as he left it. He returned truly not understanding the level of damage those years away did to John. As she got to know him, she began to understand that perhaps he had needed to think that in order to survive himself. That perhaps if it had occurred to him that John would move on, that John _could_ move on, then he would have no reason to return. Sherlock knew John was alive - he had a reason to fight the physical and emotional demons to hold on and get back to the man he loves. 

John did not have that grace.

John is strong, yes, but not strong enough to live the rest of his life fighting what he believed was the ghost of a love gone. And each day he lived, that ghost killed him a little more and more inside. 

The dichotomy of John is that when it comes to his own life, he has only two modes: survival in an adrenaline filled rush or suicidal in a depressive mode. Sherlock’s death put John in a downward spiral that nearly killed him. It was a long hard fight to get him to learn to live for himself in the now and not in the overwhelming shadow of what never was. When John finally, desperately, grasped for that lifeline to learn how to live without Sherlock so many were grateful. He was good. He was actually happy again, if one ignored the hint of memory that saddened him from time to time.

And then Sherlock came back.

Sherlock has since learned error of his ways. He has learned just how close to the brink he came to losing John altogether in one way, only to lose him in another. While most did not, she sees how Sherlock suffers in the hidden face of it. Sherlock will take having John in his life any way he can have him, even if it is only part-time, because the alternative – cutting himself out of John’s life is untenable. Sherlock will put a smile on his face to make John happy, even if what makes John happy is simultaneously tearing his guts out more and more with each passing day.

She honestly cannot say who has it worse. It is a certainty that neither has it better.

Two honorable men have never been closer, nor further apart as that honor to do what’s right slowly but surely suffocates them.

It is in the long lingering glances that one will have when the other is not looking. They hid it better in the beginning. They hid it well in the first weeks since Sherlock’s return. But as time passes, she watches how much harder it becomes for each.

It was downright painful to watch at times.

Now, it is painful to watch always.

It is why she is no longer able to watch.

Doing the right thing was going to hurt her.

Doing the right thing was going to hurt her, a lot.

But she knew, not doing the right thing was going to hurt more.

She was going to do the right thing.

She just had to figure out how...


	2. First Things First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John had nearly died emotionally living in the past for the love of Sherlock.
> 
> Sherlock had nearly died physically living for a future in the love of John.
> 
> It has been a few months since Sherlock's return and John knows. John knows as long as Sherlock Holmes walks this earth he will be in love with the man and nothing can douse that fire.

_I’m going to KILL him! If they don’t kill me first! Where the hell is he? I know he didn’t leave me. I know he didn’t._

The old rope securing him to the upright was starting to rub his wrist raw despite the care he took. One moment he was running for his life dodging getting shot. He had three pursuing him. Had. When the two left got the drop on him, they let their anger of that loss be known. He woke up secured to an upright in what looked like an abandoned barn.

The good news they were not out to kill him. At least not yet. John knew he was leverage to draw out Sherlock. And Sherlock was leverage to get to Mycroft.

And Sherlock Holmes had to be alive.

John Watson had grieved for Sherlock Holmes once. He could not do that again.

The thing is John knew if Sherlock was alive the mad genius was coming for him. He knew that. Unfortunately, so did they.

And while they waited for Sherlock to show up for the trap laying in wait they used John as a punching bag. 

Mycroft asked Sherlock to go on a mission. Sherlock still owed him favors, and Mycroft called one in.

The words were not spoken, but John knew Mycroft did it to get Sherlock away from London. Away from him. Sherlock knew it as well.

Thus, for only the third time ever, Sherlock had asked John to come with him.

His first instinct was to decline initially, he is an engaged man. He cannot risk his life when he had a fiancée to think of now.

His agreeing was partially because he could never deny Sherlock anything asked of him and partially because of Mary’s doing.

He was in the predicament he is now because of her. She pushed him to rekindle the friendship with Sherlock.

He knew he was in trouble when he woke up from dreaming about Sherlock and could not even look at his fiancée lying beside him. He had not dreamed of Sherlock like that since the morning before The Fall. The dream was so vivid felt so real. A life with Sherlock. A love with Sherlock. He was almost ready to confess all to Sherlock back then and then his world crashed when Sherlock jumped. 

John had told Mary a lot about Sherlock Holmes when he thought the man was dead, nothing but a memory that gutted his soul. A dead man that had become harder and harder to live without. A memory that had become harder and harder to live with. He did so she would understand what a mess he was and secretly in hopes to chase her away at the beginning. But she stayed around. She stayed around and slowly the thoughts of when he himself did not want to stay around anymore became less and less as their togetherness became more and more. He knew the only reason he had survived to see Sherlock’s resurrection was because of her. He was about to propose to Mary when the dead man came back to life. When he got over the initial shock of it, he proposed anyway.

It started the morning she read his blog out loud. The morning he shaved. Yes, he was hurt, a whole new level of hurt since Sherlock’s ridiculous reappearance in his life. It took a couple of days, but it was hearing those words, his own words – words that reminded him of when it didn’t hurt to think of Sherlock Holmes.

It had taken a couple of weeks before John could get over the betrayal of Sherlock’s return enough to talk to the man. That also had been Mary’s doing.

He could have held on to the heat of his anger and let it burn for quite a while. She wouldn’t let him. She made him see the light. Made him see how desperate, how dire it must have been to take such measures. And once John stopped wallowing in his own anger, he knew she was right. When he knew he could talk to the man without losing his cool he went to Baker Street.

Then he was nearly burned to death on Guy Faulks Day.

Next thing he knew he was doing The Work with Sherlock again in saving Parliament. A few glances of understanding between them and everything slid into place so easily. It was almost as if no time had passed at all.

Almost...

John knew Sherlock had been hurt during those two years while he was gone. Granted, he did not know it that very first night when his hurt at the betrayal made him throttle, head butt and sucker punch the man. But he noticed it later. It showed from time to time in the way Sherlock moved, especially in those first weeks of his return.

He is a doctor; an army doctor. An army doctor who recognized the unconscious movements of torture victims. He had asked Sherlock once what happened. The offhanded response he received told him Sherlock was lying and John understood Sherlock would likely never tell him. Definitely not as long as he was with Mary.

It did not matter; the fire was relit.

The fire deep inside of him that Mary could only make spark from time to time was once again a full-blown conflagration when his eyes opened, and he saw Sherlock’s face when pulled from the bonfire.

It relit the fire of things he had not told Mary.

How desperately he was in love with Sherlock Holmes then and never told him with the fear it would never be returned.

How desperately he is in love with Sherlock Homes now and cannot tell him with his engagement to Mary.

John had nearly died emotionally living in the past for the love of Sherlock.

Sherlock had nearly died physically living for a future in the love of John.

It has been a few months since Sherlock's return and John knows. John knows as long as Sherlock Holmes walks this earth he will be in love with the man and nothing can douse that fire. A part of John had begun to wonder if she sensed it.

John knows he needs to do the right thing and break things off with Mary.

John gritted his teeth as another hard punch landed in his midsection. That one hurt. He suspected at least one cracked rib. Getting the pulp beat out of him was not in the mission dossier.

First things first, he and Sherlock had to survive this mission.


	3. Not The Right Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had told himself he was going to do the right thing.
> 
> He would finally tell the man the truth at the right time.
> 
> He would tell John that he loved him and let the chips fall where they may.
> 
> The right thing and the right time had to be at home, in London.

It had been a quiet couple of weeks without cases. He was bored and needed a diversion from the happy domesticity of being home again. So, when Mycroft called to send him on a mission, he accepted. Go rescue an agent marked for execution in hostile territory and get him back to London in one piece. All missions had some inherent risk, there would be no need for Sherlock otherwise.

Still, Sherlock knew why Mycroft wasted a favor to ask him to handle a mission that looked like a generous six, at best, by his personal rating scale.

To get him away from Dr. John Hamish Watson.

So, he asked John to come with him on the mission.

He had learned to trust John Watson when he trusted no one else. Including his own brother sometimes. Though in retrospect he should have trusted Mycroft when his brother had said it wasn’t the right time. He needed to wait for more intel before he headed into Serbia.

Serbia was the last piece. He was tired and just wanted it all to be over. He wanted to come back to London.

He wanted to come back to _John_.

He knew John would grieve. He had counted on it. Needed that show of grief to help throw Moriarty’s people off his trail as he dismantled the criminal mastermind’s network piece by piece. Sherlock knew it was vast, but not two years of work vast. There were days and nights where the thought seeing John’s smiling face again was the only thing that kept him going.

Being away from John gave him too much time to think about him. Sherlock realized he had been a moth attracted to John’s flame from the moment the man not only had _not_ freaked out or became enraged at being so thoroughly deduced in the taxi ride to their first crime scene, he honestly admired and complimented it. John accepted Sherlock, foibles and all. Sherlock’s attraction for John only grew from there. Within a day of meeting him, John had proved himself willing to kill a man to save him and then proved at the pool with Moriarty that he was equally willing to die for and him.

Despite his several proclamations otherwise, Sherlock knew John was attracted to him long before the doctor started counting Irene’s text messages, even if the man could not admit it himself. Sherlock had wanted to say something then, call John out on it, but knew it was not the right time.

As ruthless that he knew his brother could be at times, it was at a whole other level of cruel to let him return home and not tell him that Mary existed in John’s life. Did not tell him that John loved her. Most importantly did not tell him that John was at the Landmark that night to propose to her.

Sherlock had imagined John’s shock, John’s relief. Sherlock had imagined their first kiss. Sherlock had imagined he and John sharing their first night together as a couple. The thoughts of that ecstatic relief, that first kiss, that first night were what gave him the will to go on when it all fell to shambles in Serbia.

Had anyone asked him, Sherlock would have sworn that Lestrade would have been the one most upset with by his return and that John would have been most joyous. Instead it was the detective inspector who greeted his return with elation and John who… had not.

He had not anticipated going back to Baker Street alone, nursing a bloody nose.

In the hindsight of 20/20, and conversations with Mary since, who to his surprise kept her word and encouraged the reconnection of their friendship, that he had learned the extent of John’s grief. Only then had Sherlock realized when he jumped up of the roof of St. Bart’s, while he lived physically, it was John who died emotionally.

Only then had Sherlock truly understood he should have listened to Mycroft. He should have done the right thing and told John the truth then.

He should have told the truth immediately when he came back.

He should have told him before asking him to come with him on the mission.

The mission that had been a shit show almost from the moment their jeep crossed the border into hostile territory. Someone had lied to Mycroft’s people for the intelligence was off. By the time he deduced it, he and John were well in the thick of it. They had easily rescued the agent who was set up to be caught spying in the wrong borders. John had kept whispering something felt off. Sherlock had not felt it and wanted to chalk it up to John’s tendency to be overly cautious, but he had learned to trust the good doctor’s instincts in the battlefield.

Thus, when John and Sherlock were caught off guard, they were not entirely surprised when they and the agent were only a few kilometers away from the safety of a friendly border when the double cross happened. The agent switched alliances. Those in his new allegiance wanted Sherlock as leverage against Mycroft. The rescue of the agent had become an attempted kidnapping of Sherlock instead. They had not counted on John being there. He and John were separated in the escape. He knew John would never leave him within enemy borders and likewise he would never leave John.

Sherlock found a trail he knew had John’s footsteps and at least two pursued the former army captain.

A couple of meandering kilometers later Sherlock learned there were three distinct prints. Two that walked and a set that dragged between the two. Neither of the walking pairs were John’s.

He followed the trail to a ramshackle barn that took far too long to sneak his way in past the one who watched the obvious door completely ignorant of other ways to enter the near dilapidated structure undetected. Once Sherlock was in, he was nearly brought to his knees.

His worse fears were confirmed when he heard the all too familiar sound of someone receiving body blows immediately followed by the unfamiliar sound of one Captain John Watson delivering a string of curses in Pashto.

Sherlock getting hurt for the sake of John was one thing, he could withstand anything for him….

Sherlock knew how the scene would unfold as the turncoat agent decided to stop using his fists and lifted an old hammer from the ground.

…John getting hurt for his sake was beyond Sherlock’s capacity to bear.

Memories of Serbia flashed through his mind and he reacted.

If his life depended on Sherlock could not have told you what he did after he leaped from the hayloft.

The next thing Sherlock was certain of was the feel of the John’s gentle fingers on the cut along his jaw even as he himself tenderly touched the swollen side of John’s face after both the rogue agent and his accomplice were dead.

So much was said in their touches, but there needed to be words spoken and Sherlock was about to say those words when John’s fingers touched his lips for silence, gun already drawn in the sound of footsteps running towards the barn.

In the midst of the initial escape from the kidnap attempt neither noticed the dilapidated barn was within the safe border.

Codes were shouted, it was Mycroft’s people.

Once again, it was not the right time.

He had told himself he was going to do the right thing.

He would finally tell the man the truth at the right time.

He would tell John that he loved him and let the chips fall where they may.

The right thing and the right time had to be at home, in London.


	4. The Only Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the proposition was first placed to Mycroft, he initially rejected it outright not wanting to be party it.
> 
> It had been a coward’s move.
> 
> But as he watched the two silent men, he knew then that she had been correct.
> 
> This was the right thing, the only thing.

Mycroft knew John and Sherlock would not head to his office to debrief, but head to Baker Street first. He mentally shook his head at the veracity of it as he watched the two men exit the taxi. and then mentally, his jaw dropped. Peripherally he saw as Anthea’s mobile lowered in her slacked fingers as she spotted the two as well.

Sherlock limped slightly as he retrieved their bags from the boot of the taxi. John reached for his keys and opened the door to 221B.

Mycroft had learned of the duplicitous agent after Sherlock and John had left. They were already incommunicado within enemy territory. It had been a scramble to cover as much as the border as possible not knowing where they would show up. The elder Holmes brother never considered the “if” aspect of it. Not that he had that much faith in his brother, because he did. It was his heart that could not accept any option other than Sherlock’s survival. Only Anthea saw the small tells of Mycroft’s utter relief when the team that found them reported in.

It was a relief that was short lived as Sherlock snatched the mobile from the agent and proceeded to harangue him over their near miss. He did not bother to remind his baby brother that Watson getting hurt was a result of Sherlock spitefully having invited John to accompany him.

For Sherlock, it was the right thing, the only thing.

Mycroft would have been utterly shocked at the state of Watson’s face if his agents had not sent photos to confirm pick up. Anthea also forwarded the security videos at their arrival at Heathrow. Having seen Watson’s face in the surveillance video on his mobile and seeing it in its swollen black and blue glory with his own eyes was a very different thing. With various cuts, scrapes and contusions and at least one cracked rib, John was the more physically hurt of the two men.

That is not what gave either he or Anthea pause as the two glanced at each other in front of the door to 221B. Something had changed between John and Sherlock, something important. Something Mycroft deduced would have direct bearing on why he was at Baker Street in the first place.

He had tried to separate them. As he watched the two of them, he knew he had been wrong.

When the proposition was first placed to him, he initially rejected it outright not wanting to be party it. Like his brother, he was not much for such entanglements, but the hypocrisy of having attempted to send Sherlock on a mission to get him away from John rang loud and clear. The taste of having kept his vow to Sherlock at John’s expense was still bitter even if only he himself knew the distinct flavor existed.

In the end he relented. It was the right thing, the only thing.

The look he and Anthea gave each other answered the unspoken question which confirmed to each that the other had seen it as well. Anthea returned to her Blackberry. Though as well-versed as he in keeping a stoic countenance as her default expression, she did not try to hide her amusement now. After all she would not be the one who would soon have to go upstairs and deal with this new development on top of the one that awaited them. 

As the door to 221B Baker Street closed Mycroft switched to his laptop already queued to the cameras inside the flat.

He saw the moment John noticed what was left for him on the side table next to, what everyone who comes to 221B knows is, John’s chair. He saw the part of John that registered the items for what they were, and what their being in the flat meant.

He also saw when his brother noticed what had been left for him in turn on the coffee table.

Sherlock and John turned to each other with a significant look, respective items left for them in hand, and Mycroft knew – _they knew_.

It had been a coward’s move on her part. It was why he had not wanted to be a part of it at first, but as the two silent men exchange the envelopes, unread, he knew then that she had been correct in her actions.

This was the right thing, the only thing,

Mycroft watched as Sherlock and John finally did the right thing, the only thing, then as one, gently tore open the envelopes they held and began to read a coward’s brave words…


	5. You Know This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock had made promises to themselves once they reached Baker Street, but when certain truths are revealed, will those promises be kept?

Sherlock gave an internal eye roll at the straightened door knocker. His brother’s OCD, that always gave away when he had been to the flat, annoyed and amused him.

John closed the door and locked it after Sherlock passed with their bags. He turned and saw the familiar wallpaper of the foyer, the chair by the table, the worn familiar seventeen steps when it hit him…

_We survived the mission! We’re home!_

When John Watson thinks the word home it is always Baker Street that comes to mind. Even though he had moved out to live with Mary when he could no longer take the heartbreak of a flat that was both too empty of the one who lived yet too filled with the one who died, this flat is what comes to mind first. Especially now that the flat was no longer empty of he that which filled it and he with so much life.

Sherlock was about to head for the stairs when John called out to him.

“Sherlock, wait…”

The words shad lipped from John’s lips unintentionally, but they were out now. They had been heard.

He knew there was something else he had wanted to do first, something he should do first, but he trusted his gut instinct that had urged the words in the universe at that moment and went with it.

_It was time to do the right thing._

Sherlock turned; a dark brow rose.

The doctor had an odd look at first as though he had not intended to speak, but then it became a determined look as he approached and stood close to him. Very close.

Something in the air crackled and Sherlock put the bags down.

“John…” 

Sherlock glanced around the familiar foyer the sound of he and John giggling like the mad men they are ghosted his memory and every fiber of his being knew.

_The right time had come._

“John, I love you. And not a in a platonic or fraternal way, though I suppose both are in there way a part of how… but they aren’t now and… What I’m trying to say is I love you.. I said that. I mean I’m IN love with you. Yes, that’s it! I’m so much in love with you. I have been for so long and… I realize you have Mary and I should have said such long before I jumped. I didn’t then, but I am saying it now. I…”

Sherlock had not meant to blurt it out and babble in rapid speed like that. He had meant to… Actually, he had no idea what he meant to do, but he knew it was not that.

He had pursed his lips to try again when John placed his fingers over them to silence him.

“Shh, I know, Sherlock… I do know.” John could not help his soft smile at the flustered man before him who now looked at him with understandable disbelief, “You often accused me of being slow sometimes and you’re right I am achingly slow to catch on sometimes, but I do eventually catch on. I’m sorry it took so long then for me to work it out and find a way to tell you. I had so expounded the _Not Gay!_ party line I didn’t know what to do and you were _Mr. Married to Your Work_. Had you not noticed the months before you jumped that I had stopped dating? Why do you think that was? When it comes to our hearts and each other, neither saw nor observed. I am in love with you too, Sherlock Holmes. So much in love with you.”

Sherlock’s eyes only had the barest moments to flick over John’s face, but it was enough as the fingers that covered Sherlock’s lips were replaced with John’s lips. The kiss was tentative, shy, almost chaste, and yet the hunger of it was felt. Still mentally self-flagellating on how his words come out, Sherlock was surprised by the feel of John’s fingers, shocked by the equally blurted reciprocity and floored by the feel of John’s lips on his. Sherlock had momentarily stilled under the feel of dreams coming true as he quickly returned the kiss.

Someone’s breath hitched. Someone slightly gasped. Arms went around waists. Fingers slid through hair. It was irrelevant who did what as tongues slid against each other. When the need to breathe separated their lips, foreheads leaned together, arms still wrapped around each other, as nothing, yet everything was said. 

_Could it really have been just that simple?_

Sherlock, a man known for his reticence to emotional displays, beamed with joy as he wordlessly picked up the bags again, took John’s hand in his other hand and together they headed up stairs.

John saw the envelope on the coffee table addressed to Sherlock as soon as he had opened the door to the flat. Neither man spoke as they entered and saw what awaited them. 

Sherlock recognized Mary’s handwriting as he put their bags down. He walked over to the coffee table and picked up the sealed envelope. He heard the hitch in John’s breath and knew an envelope awaited the doctor as well. He was not surprised to see it when he turned to face John. He was both elated and terrified at John’s nervous smile.

Sherlock glanced around the sitting room and every fiber of his being knew.

_No, it is never going to be that simple. It does not mean it isn’t right._

When John saw the envelope addressed to Sherlock on the coffee table and recognized the writing, he automatically looked to the side table by his chair and saw the one addressed to him atop of the latest edition of a medical periodical he subscribed to. He raised a brow at the magazine, not quite getting why it felt off amongst the myriad of emotions that flickered through his psyche as he picked up the envelope, then turned to Sherlock.

As he held the envelope he knew without reading it what it was going to say.

 _Apparently_ first things first _had been taken care of without you, Watson. I do apologize Mary, but as much as it hurts to have hurt you like this, I’d be lying if I said I was sorry._

The shock and disappointment gave way to reluctant hope as he stepped to Sherlock and the two wordlessly exchanged envelopes.

Silent questions were asked and answered in near synchronization as they slowly stepped apart and opened the envelope held.

~~~~~

Dearest Sherlock,

I can say dearest in all honesty, even if a little part, a very little part I admit, hates you right now. The way I imagine a very little part of you has hated me since the engagement.

The day a person gets married it should be to his truest love. It should be to the person that they not only would live for, but also go through hell for and come out from the other side grateful for the opportunity to have done so for him. It should be with the person that would suffer the slings and arrows of heartbreak, for the sole joy of seeing the smile of his happiness, even if that happiness were with someone else.

What they should not do is let someone undeserving waltz in and take that love. They should not their love settle for what you and I both know is second best in his heart. You are both men of your word where it counts. And stubborn gits that you both are, your pride and honor will make you stick by that word even it kills your soul. Stop it, Sherlock, you know have one. I’ve seen it.

I’ve seen in the joy that lights your eyes when the doctor gets it right. I see it when he shines a light where you need to look even when neither of you quite know what you’re seeing yet, and I see it on the albeit rare occasions he even beats you to the punch. It’s wrapped up in a former army doctor who showed you it’s not a disadvantage to show it now and again, despite the drivel spewed from your brother’s lips.

John thinks he lost his dog tags. I know you have them. Mrs. Hudson tried to hide them from my view when I walked in on her dusting in your room one day. She knows as well as I do that you took them before you _died_ to have something of him with you. Just as you now wear a new scarf with your Belstaff, I know that it is because John kept yours. I know that even now, he takes it out of the box has he thinks I don’t know about and caresses it every now and then. And please note how I write that in present tense.

If I got this right, you are standing next to that man now, Sherlock. Or you are going be standing next to him very soon. And it’s going to be with professed love, because damn it, you are going to say those words to him. You’re going to say them out loud where he can hear them. He deserves to hear them from you after all this time. And he will say those words to you because YOU deserve to hear them from him as well.

You two have suffered so much apart, more than enough, enough for a lifetime. Yet, you two continue to suffer so much more now that you’re back. Suffer no more. Do the right thing.

I’d tell you to go to hell, but I know you’ve already been there in one fashion once. Don’t spend the rest of your life there as his second best. That is my place in his heart, not yours.

Being stuck in or with second best is not good enough. Not for you. Not for me. And I think you and I can both agree especially not for him. Do what I realize in hindsight what I would never be able to do for him since the day he shaved for you: make him truly happy.

Do the right thing.

Tell John you love him.

><><>-<><

My Darling John,

I had no intention of falling in love with you, I merely wanted to bring you back from that brink of despair which seemed as though only I could tell you still lived around when I met you. I did not understand how a doctor so charming and compassionate with his patients could also be so aloof and utterly despondent with himself. All I knew was you fought daily to put a smile on your face to keep your patients living on the outside and all the while you yourself were dying on the inside. Every now and then I could get you speak beyond patient needs. The first time I got you to laugh out loud was one of my proudest moments. You had seemed so bewildered to hear the sound of your own honest laughter. Amazed that you could laugh again and oh so grateful. I do believe that is where you began to realize, that maybe just maybe you could live a happy life again.

Eventually, I was able to get you to talk to me of him. When you spoke of him you came alive during the telling in a way I had never seen and I got to see more of who you were and more important, who you could be. I wanted to see more of that man that he saw. He was gone; so I wanted to be that person for you.

And for a while I think I was.

But then he returned. He may have left to save the lives of three of you, but we know he only returned for the love of one - you. You know he loves you. You know you love him. Do the right thing.

When I met him for myself that night I understood it then, because damn him, from the very beginning, I liked him too. Since his return and you two have started doing The Work again, you have lit up in a whole new fashion. I have no doubt you will be eternally grateful to me for giving you a reason to stick around. I think we both know you may not have made it to see his return otherwise. I have no doubt you love me. In your way, I know you do. And someday you might have even come to be truly IN love with me. I know now that any chance of that happening disappeared with the appearance of that horrible French waiter. I did not realize it then, but the morning you shaved for him was the first death toll and warning of where I would stand with you. 

I know you two; I’ve seen two together now, I’ve seen you apart from him. You’re so much better with him and if I’m gone, when I'm gone, I know what you could become: two men sitting in that scruffy flat of 221B, arguing over body parts in the fridge and whose turn it is to get the milk and beans. Him solving crimes, both of you saving people and you blogging about it. Like you’ve always done since the beginning and always will. Together.

John, you have two people willing to do anything and everything for your happiness including let you go and be happy with someone else. You lived two years without him and now you have him back. If I got this right, John, you are standing near him now. Because other than surgery, you cannot bear being apart from him for too long.

Neither of you are perfect men, but you and he are perfect together. You both would see that if you two would let yourselves do what I am now doing: getting out of your own bloody way. Do the right thing. Let me go. Don’t ask him to help you find me out of some sense of honor, that would be cruel to both he and I. And don’t you dare ask that bloody brother of his to look for me. I promise you, John, when you found me, if you found me, I’d only leave again.

Let me go.

Please, John, you mustn’t hate me for being a coward just this once and doing it like this. I need to do this in my own way for I know if I faced you, I would let you convince me to stay. Your honor would insist I stay, you know this, but deep down we both know it would only delay the inevitable and the longer we delayed, the harder it would be to let the inevitable happen.

I could have lived knowing I was second best to a dead man. I cannot compete with the living.

I was the stent needed for your heart to go on, but he is what makes it beat.

Do the right thing.

Tell Sherlock you love him.

><><>-<><

Sherlock, a fast reader, had finished first. He imagined Mary’s words to himself followed on a similar to what he had just read of her words for John. So many emotions flew across the doctor’s face Sherlock could not pinpoint the most dominant one to give him an idea of what he was thinking past the obvious one of surprise. When John finished reading he folded the letter and placed it back in its envelope; Sherlock did likewise and the letters were returned to their rightful owners. John folded his letter unread.

That did surprise Sherlock.

“Do you not wish to read her words to you.?”

“I do.” John sighed. “But she left this. I think yours was self-explanatory enough. I need a moment okay?” At Sherlock’s solemn nod John pocketed the letter, “Did you know?”

“No, of course not! You know I could not have hidden such from you, John.”

“That is true.” John conceded. He ran a hand over his face and left it resting on his neck as he took a few steps away.

For all that Sherlock knew of John Hamish Watson, the doctor as ever remained an unfathomable puzzle as he tried to work out what was going on in the man’s mind. Sherlock knew they were close, so close to having everything. And as much as he has longed for it, he had to be sure he was not the only one.

John had not read Mary’s letter to him. He does not know Mary’s wishes yet. What were John’s wishes?

“John…?” Sherlock inwardly cursed his insecurities, but he had to know, “Do you… Do you want to go after her?”

“Yes… No.” John answered immediately then saw the flash of hurt of Sherlock’s face before the detective schooled it, “No, not like that Sherlock. Not like that. In the barn it felt a little like cheating and I could not do that. I had told myself that if we survived this mission, I would do the right thing: Return to London and break off the engagement with her, but once we got here to Baker Street, actually in here, I could not wait. I guess I’m just a little taken aback she… left first? I don’t know…”

“Did she though…? Did she leave first?” Sherlock asked softly.

John started to speak, but stopped. After a moment he shook his head sadly.

“No, I had not said the words to her; I had not worked out the emotions, but the moment you opened the door to that restaurant and stepped back into my life, I realize now that was the moment the door started to close on the life I was settling for with Mary. I was the one who left… My heart left first.” John touched the trouser pocket that had the letter, “Had I any idea of _this_ I might’ve let you kiss me in that barn. You… you were going to kiss me then weren’t you?” 

“Yes, I was. I had just got you back into my life. I admit not in the capacity I had hoped. Not in the way I dreamed. Not in the way that gave me a reason to keep going while I was out there alone.” Sherlock knew John was going to speak, he wouldn’t let him, “No, John, do not apologize for making the decision to move on. Your choice was made with incomplete data and the fault was all mine for keeping you in the dark. I know that now. I was gone and after two years you had finally found some happiness again, a reason to keep going, to keep living, in Mary. I understood that you always believed in me, that you had faith and you had waited as long as you could. I have since learned the damage of what that wait had done…”

Sherlock, never one to keep still for long - not even in his mind palace, pocketed the unread letter he held and went to his bag and took out his laptop as he continued, “I was, and am, so grateful to Mary for saving you. For she does love you, John, she does, and I felt I had no right to infringe on that. Not after what I had done you. Having you in my life a little was preferable to none at all. And I thought I could continue to live with that. I have since learnt I cannot.” Sherlock plugged in his laptop, then went to retrieve John’s. “As I searched, and eventually found you in that barn, I had told myself that I would finally tell you the one thing I could never seem to find the right place or the right time to tell you before,” Sherlock stopped and reached out, his fingers gently caressed John’s face, “I am a novice, and fear I will ever be rubbish, at sentimental words and gestures John, but my words are no less true for their lack of flowery prose.”

“I would check your temperature, Sherlock, if you suddenly broke out in sonnet.” John quipped.

The two snickered slightly, then humor gave way to feels, a part of them still unbelieving, after all they have gone through, that they can have this at last.

“The right thing, at the right time, in the right place?” John turned his head to Sherlock’s caress and kissed the palm, “Yes, Sherlock…I think we finally there.”

Lips find lips again in a soft kiss until a throat clears.

“Christ!” John startled at the sight of Mycroft at the door.

“Not quite.”

John had forgotten the elder Holmes brother had a key. Not that the man needed one to get in. He had started to back away, but realized Sherlock had not moved. Other than to stop kissing him, Sherlock had not reacted to Mycroft’s presence at all. Sherlock's thumb still stroked his cheek as John’s hands remained on Sherlock’s lips. John's eyes flicked to the kitchen when the kettle clicked off.

“I can tell your pain meds are wearing off. Do you want me to fetch them will you make us both tea?” At John’s nod, Sherlock let him go and turned his attention to Mycroft who entered the flat. “When I said to John _make us both tea_ I meant John and myself, you are not invited.”

“I know.” Mycroft smirked at his brother as he down at the desk by Sherlock’s laptop, “I’m not here for tea, but thank you for not offering.”

“Then what are you here for?” Sherlock huffed as he closed the cover on his laptop before he retrieved the medication from John’s bag.

“I imagine because he knows. Knows about Mary.” John answered from the kitchen, “How else would her letters have got in here? I never gave Mary a key. And Mrs. Hudson’s not in, hasn’t been for a few days going by her usual patterns.” John looked at Sherlock intently as he entered the kitchen. “ _Dust IS eloquent._ ”

“My blogger is learning…” Sherlock smiled with approval at the recalled words as he handed John the pills, then turned to Mycroft, “You still have not said why you are here to annoy me.”

“No John, I see you reaching for another cup anyway.” Mycroft stood, “Thank you, but do not bother. I’m actually here for you.”

“Me?” John asked warily.

“I knew you and Sherlock would come here first. I left the letters knowing they would catch your attention and provide a bit of information. These, the letters were FedExed to my _minor_ office after I reluctantly agreed to assist with these…” Mycroft reached in a pocket and placed a ring and a set of keys on the coffee table.

John recognized the ring and the key fob; both were in Mary’s possession a week ago. “Well, shit.”

Now he knew why the magazine on the table felt off. Yes, the table was where he kept the latest edition of the periodical when he last lived at Baker Street. However, that specific edition had just arrived in the mail at his now previous address with Mary the day before he and Sherlock left; it had no business being here.

“My things… They’re... already here.”

It was not a question, but Mycroft confirmed it anyway, “Or in storage until you decide what to do with them. And no, I do not know her location and no, I will not look for her if asked. Her wishes were quite clear.”

John sank into a chair as the enormity of it hit him. Mary was truly gone.

“I thought it kinder than you going to your former abode and then learning your key there no longer worked. Going by what I walked in on, apparently, I need not have been concerned.” Mycroft headed for the door.

“Mycroft…” Sherlock’s tone held warning to the retreating back of his brother.

“You didn’t know it yet, John, but you’ve already come home… Haven’t you?” Mycroft’s voice faded out as he headed down the stairs, “Good day, gentlemen.”

“I hate to say this out loud,” Sherlock shook the pill bottle he held at John, “but, he’s right… In a way…”

“Oh?” John reached out for the bottle and took the medicine, “In what way is that?”

“You had already come home…” Sherlock explained, “…at least in spirit.”

“No, you’re both wrong… In a way…” John stood and walked over to Sherlock and smiled softly.

“And how in any way is that possible?” Sherlock scoffed at the idea that both he and Mycroft could be wrong.

“My body had moved out, yes…” John reached up and cupped Sherlock’s cheek in bittersweet wonder of being able to do such after so long, “But my spirit never left the place I shared with my love. I do love you, Sherlock.” 

“John…” Sherlock’s eye slid closed, having again heard the words he once only imagined would be said to him by the man who slowly pulled him closer. Words he once only imagined he would say aloud were now a breathless whisper uttered in reality, “And I do love you.”


	6. All Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full circle

John and Sherlock laughed heartily along with the audience as Gregory finished regaling them with several touching as well as hilarious moments of knowing the doctor and the detective.

“If you ever get married again, I’m paying you back for this!” John raised his glass to a grinning Lestrade.

“If he does not, I most certainly will.” Sherlock deadpanned.

“Ya, I’m trembling in my wellies mates.” Greg laughed not in the least worried. He gestured at John and Sherlock as he looked across the table. “Have at ‘em!”

“I’m not sure I can match such an exuberant performance as yours, Gregory.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine. And now some few words from the best Big Brother a consulting detective never asked for! The Best Man Part Deux!” Greg raised a glass and then sat.

Mycroft could not help but inwardly smirk at the quickness in which the table quieted as he stood. It was a petty display of power, but it was a display none the less. He had not done public speaking as such since the debate team at Oxford. He did not like it then, he loathed it now, but this was not about him.

He looked around the table. It was a very small, very private affair, fitting the occasion and the two men being celebrated. He turned and gave a rare fond smile to the man closest to him. The curly-haired man who looked up at him expectantly now was a far cry from the once cherubic face that had looked up to the once much younger him so many years ago; years that suddenly felt like just yesterday. Mummy, who sat to his left, touched his hand briefly. He knew she was likewise caught in the same time vortex of the past boy as they gaze at the present man.

“From the day you were born I had vowed to always protect you from harm, to stand with you against your troubles. Mummy and Dad got you to your majority, but only I could keep up with you since. While it may not have always been the easy thing; I have always tried to do the right thing since. It was, and often is, a thankless job; one that we at times suffer and at other times cherish. And one that even now has its challenges this far into your adulthood. Then slowly unexpected help came from DI Gregory Lestrade, Dr. Molly Hooper and Mrs. Martha Hudson, the people not beholden to you via familiar ties who got to know and wholly care about you. Still, none compared to the unexpected impact of one Captain John Hamish Watson upon your life. Not even I deduced it then, but the die was cast from the start with the Jeff Hope case. I had said to my assistant that very night that Dr. Watson was going to be the making of you or make you even worse. Turns out I was correct… about both deductions.” Mycroft paused at the expressions of amusement he knew would come before he continued, “Sherlock, I first suspected the remote possibility of this very moment happening when you first told me about the pool. It was between the lines of what you did not say. When time passed and nothing progressed between you two I presumed you had gathered your God given sense and put such nonsense behind you. As I had said to you, caring is not an advantage. But we are talking about you and I should have known better. Your immediate friendship with John was such an unlikely one to begin with; that much like you, I had ignored all the little signs which pointed that it would be, that it _could_ be so much more. I realized as long as your love of him remained secret, John was your biggest weakness and one that caused your…fall. It was a near miss upon your return, but you two finally got it right and instead of a weakness, John became your greatest strength and caused you to rise. John, I have watched you from a distance…” Mycroft purposely ignored the faux cough from John that sounded incredibly like the word _cameras,_ to the amusement of all at the table, “….and have witnessed up close when Sherlock thirsted you offered succor because he was too stupid to ask, when he was too stubborn to yield to hunger you gave sustenance. Sometimes as a suggestion, sometimes by command. When he tires you offer endurance to continue, when he is quiet in suppression of joy or oud in expression of sarcasm you are his voice for all to heard or quieted and know the difference between the two. And I have seen as he in turn reciprocated it all to you: succor, sustenance, endurance, quietness, voice, and so much more. I admit I did not give much credit of you as my brother’s choice of in life companion, John…”

John gave a wry nod knowing the truth of that. Mycroft looked down at his brother for a moment, then smiled a little smile he then shared with his new brother-in-law as well, _“_ …but now I can.”

Sherlock blinked in surprise.

“Sherlock, when I say to you that deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war, and injury, and tragic loss... (he gave John a meaningful, apologetic look to the doctor as John squeezed Sherlock’s hand. Mycroft understood that while all was forgiven, such fervent pain as had John suffered in his grief those two years Sherlock was cannot be entirely erased. He leaned a little closer toward John and lowered his voice) ...I do sincerely apologize for my part in that... (it was John’s turn to blink, stunned at the admission. Sherlock squeezed John’s hand in his own apology as Mycroft straightened up again) ... so know this: today you sit beside the man you have saved by showing him he can be loved just as he is and who reciprocates the honor in showing you that because he has learned that lesson, it is you he loves most in all this world. And I know I speak for myself and the others here, who have watched you two travel all the wrong and very rocky roads before you finally got it right to be here today,” Mycroft places a hand om Sherlock’s shoulder and gestured to his parents “that while we have been there in the years before, and we…” Mycroft gesture added John and himself, ”are here for you now, and we…” Mycroft gestures now include Greg, Molly and Mrs. Hudson who also share their table “…will always be here for you and when we say will _never_ let you down, know it is for the both of you and we have a lifetime ahead us to prove that.”

“Always!” Molly implored.

When Sherlock was gone, the soft-hearted woman was not able to bear John’s needless suffering. For her own self-care she had withdrawn from the doctor to keep Sherlock’s secret. It has been over two years since his brother’s resurrection, and it is only in the past few months that John and Molly have rebuilt the friendship lost.

John gave her a warm smile now, an honest one.

“It is true!” Mrs. Hudson, the very first person who considered John and Sherlock a couple, chimed in.

“Hear! Hear!” Gregory pounded the table in his agreement.

Mummy and Daddy Holmes raise their glasses to the newlyweds first, then to the table as a whole. The Holmes parents understood the inimitable role each played in lives of their very unique sons and were grateful for them.

“John I will not lie to you and you know what I am about to say is true. Know that my brother will not always be what you want him to be at all times. Know that he might forget to listen, or to share. He most certainly will not always agree with you and will be stubborn even on the rare occasions he is wrong. I know, I know, but it does happen.” Sherlock gasped in mock offence. “Don’t tell remind us, but It does come to pass from time to time that we might all be… _human_.” Mycroft sneered as if it pained to say the word, “Even him.” Mycroft laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, “But also know this John: Sherlock will always strive to be the better man he believes he can be for you and for himself. That he will always dedicate his life to you and that he will always, always love you.”

Sherlock slowly rose and faced his brother. No words were spoken, but the entire table heard the words of endearment between the brothers as they silently hugged each other.

The table fell silent. It is the most words nearly any of them there had heard Mycroft say at one time _ever_. To hear the sincere sentiment of such words, from someone known by all at the table as Iceman, they needed a moment as Sherlock and Mycroft released each other and Sherlock sat again.

John and Sherlock locked eyes. The veracity of Mycroft’s words was heard as their foreheads silently touched.

Molly and Mrs. Hudson softly grinned at each other, as the latter wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.

“Good job.” Greg mouthed, as he and Mycroft exchanged a knowing look of their own before Mycroft sat at last.

“In other words: you’re stuck with him, John; we’re not taking him back.” Daddy Holmes quipped which broke the spell that gripped the table, and all give grateful giggles of release.

“It took too damn long to get him; I’m never giving him back. He knows, I will never leave him; I will always come for him. I have and will always be your biggest fan even when you’re being an utter arse. I am proud to be your partner in crime, honored to be your peace in the midst of chaos and so privileged to be your paramour of choice.” John promised as he lifted Sherlock’s left hand to his lips and kissed the matching band to his that graced the long elegant fingers, “You know this ring is a reminder that you will never have to face the world alone ever again. It is a promise that even when I am not physically by your side, you are always with me in my heart as I have come to learn how I always in yours.”

Sherlock took John’s hand in his and held it. “John, you let me laugh and much to the Met’s chagrin I know I will continue to giggle at horrid crime scenes with you…”

“Oi! Don’t remind me!” Greg laughs. Sherlock continued, ignoring him.

“I will admire the beauty of stars, whose names I continue to delete with you, and yet I will remember, it is always with you. By agreeing to share your life with me, you have made me the happiest man on this planet, one that even I remember is called Earth.” Sherlock kissed John’s ring in turn, “And this ring, a perfect circle, is a symbol of infinity and a promise that this love, our love, is sempiternal.”

“Oh, stop it! You’ve already given vows; you’re not getting out of picking up the milk and beans from Tesco from time to time, Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson teased.

“It was worth a shot.” Sherlock drawled.

“Prat!” John giggled.

Surprised faces turned and looked at Mycroft just then as his mobile rang.

“Apologies...” He stood and quickly walked away from the table. 

“I must say Brother Mine, your best man’s speech was, I dare say…moving.” Sherlock looked to his brother sometime later as he, John and Mycroft walked to the sedan waiting to take the newlyweds to Heathrow, “I am still a bit not good at sentiment, but your words…”

“Actually, Sherlock, though this is the one time I will publicly own the sentiment given for I meant every word spoken, but they were not entirely my words written.” Mycroft admitted.

“You mean Anthea helped you?” John asked surprised.

“No, not Anthea.” Mycroft shook his head, then looked to his brother, “You, Sherlock, who claimed to not be one for tradition and romantic gestures, announced your impending nuptials in the Times. It attracted attention.”

“Of course, it attracted attention!” Sherlock rolled his eyes at the obviousness, then frowned and focused on his brother, “Whose attention?”

“The attention of a person who should have been at your wedding but was not.” Mycroft said cryptically.

Before Sherlock could respond, John gasped, his mouth gaped happily, “You found her! Where is she?”

“Right behind you.” Mycroft pointed with his chin as a face not seen in two years approached from behind John and Sherlock. 

“Mary!” John ran up, and threw his arms around the woman who returned it with equal enthusiasm.

“Hello Dr. Watson-Holmes!” Mary laughed.

Sherlock nodded as the former lovers separated and approached the brothers. Mary hesitated until Sherlock opened his arms and Mary quickly stepped into his embrace, “Hello Mary. So good to see you again.”

“So good to see _you_ , Mr. Holmes-Watson!” Mary hugged him tightly, “Still, keeping John in trouble?”

“He married me; it comes with the territory.” Sherlock grinned and kissed her cheek.

“Good!” Mary laughed as she stepped back.

“You knew about today. Why did you not attend?” John asked.

“This is your day and you made it a private affair. I have not seen anyone since I left. I thought it would but time just slipped away. You know how it is…” Mary looked from one man to the other. John nodded thinking of Mrs. Hudson; he knew. “I did not want a bunch of questions thrown at me taking away from a moment that should be all about you. You two earned this. I just wanted to see you and give my congratulations.”

“I understand, I do. But I think we three can be friends now, yes?” Sherlock looked from Mary to John with fond hope.

“Yes. I’d like that if you’re game.” John agreed and looked to Mary with equal fondness,

“If he does not already have it, I’ll give Mycroft my information.” Mary offered.

“Of course, I have it.” “Of course, he has it.” “I’m sure he has it.”

Mycroft, Sherlock and John spoke near simultaneously.

Mycroft rolled his eyes as Mary snorted with mirth.

“When you return from your sex holiday…” she wiggled her brows suggestively, “I feel like it’s the right thing now.”

“That is how this all unfolded at last.” Mycroft pointed out.

“How’s that?” John asked.

Mycroft and Mary hid their smiles as Sherlock reached out for John and kissed him.

“Each of us did the right thing.”


End file.
